


The Waking Sleep

by mockingjayne



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-10
Updated: 2019-12-10
Packaged: 2021-02-26 03:40:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,331
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21746920
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mockingjayne/pseuds/mockingjayne
Summary: "Moments of recognition, realization that she's not dreaming usually causing her to suddenly wake from a restful sleep, instead keep her suspended somewhere in the middle.  The waking sleep."
Relationships: Maggie Greene & Glenn Rhee, Maggie Greene/Glenn Rhee
Comments: 2
Kudos: 15





	The Waking Sleep

Her eyelids hang heavy, glued shut to their bottom half like gates made of lead and metal, refusing to open to the bright knocker, shining brightly, waiting for entrance. The light permeates through the cracks, casting vaguely visible shapes behind her eyelids, lingering in dark shadows. She floats between consciousness and sleep, drifting through what she can only assume is a dream. Moments of recognition, realization that she’s not dreaming usually causing her to suddenly wake from a restful sleep, instead keep her suspended somewhere in the middle. The waking sleep.

A distinct floral scent lingers, tickling her nose, only further confusing her foggy state. That is until the creak appears, making its presence known, the sound to secure her place back on earth. 

She slowly blinks her heavy eyes open, eyelashes fluttering against the dark circles hanging beneath. The shades of purple and red resemble that of bruises, highlighting her green eyes, that scream about a life lived after such a close call. The light through the window continues to drown her in its light, harshly calling into question where she was, what had happened.

Positioned on her side, she slowly rolls onto her back, and a searing pain through her side has her wincing and grabbing for the source. Her fingertips grasp at a clean white bandage covered in an equally clean and white gown.

Her mind begins to panic, as she looks around for something familiar, something to wake her from a place that looks all too familiar to heaven. The white, the light, and the unmistakably purple flowers set next to her. It was too nice. Too clean. Too…not her home. She tries to trace back her steps, squinting as she struggles to recall the memory, as if protecting her from the harsh reality of what was feeling more and more like a previous life.

She brings her hand to her forehead, slowly breathing, in - out. Her other hand resting softly on the stiff leather table chair holding her up. And then she hears it again, the creaking. She peeks from underneath her hand, shadows underneath the door making their way through the entrance - darkness creeping into her heaven.

Closing her eyes tightly, preparing for a fight, she attempts to lift her weak body from the chair, grabbing for the vase of flowers to use as a weapon. It’s then that the door creaks open, a worried husband ushering himself in. Her husband. Her Glenn. Wringing his hands, a look of relief washing over his face as he moves to her side.

“How are you feeling?” he asks, worriedly tracing her with his gaze, checking for obvious signs of pain. She looks at him confusedly, his hair mussed back as if he’d run his hands through it fairly recently…and frequently.

“It’s okay, you’re still groggy,” he tries to explain, his hand reaching out to pull her own hair out of her eyes. He leans forward kissing her forehead. His blue shirt rubbing against her gown, leaving a smudge of dirt on the otherwise clean item.

She moves to speak, her chapped lips and sore throat leaving her struggling for the strength to vocalize all the questions she has swirling around in her. The heaviness of sleep starting to overtake her again. She focuses on his worried eyes, silently pleading with her to be okay. But for the life of her, she can’t remember why.

His brown orbs lull her in to a sense of safety, all her energy spent, with sleep overtaking her racing mind, she succumbs to darkness, bringing her further and further down. 

Flashes of red being thrown like speckled paint, burning upon impact, streak her face. Her friends, her family kneeling in the dirt next to her, looks of terror mixing with the tears traveling down most of their faces.

Looking down at her trembling hands, hunched over, pain radiating throughout her entire body, but no obvious wounds to suggest the source. Glancing up she sees Glenn, hair disheveled, a look of pure terror casted back at her, on all fours, as if trying to crawl his way to her. She swears he’s saying, “Maggie…” but she can’t hear it, just sees the movement of his lips. Distant screams in the background block out any sound, like a ringing in her ear, just piercing yells of alarm getting closer and closer, louder and louder. She squints at Glenn as he shakes his head at her, his lips never stop moving, “Maggie…” and as the sound becomes louder, the screams become more distinct, more likes cries. Wails of distress, like a baby. Like a crying baby.

She tries to speak, a desperate plea for Glenn, but the wailing prevails, the smell of death consuming her senses, the feeling of loss settling over her. Glancing down again, she finds her hands soaked with blood, as pain vibrates through her bones, traveling to the center until focused on one point, her stomach.

Baby.

Bolting awake, she flies up, erratic breathing shaking her frame, as pain begins to vibrate through her again. Panic sets in as her hands scramble for her stomach, coming up with blood, staining the once clean gown red.

“Maggie, Maggie, calm down. It was just a dream, you’re okay,” he tries to settle her, but the blood has clearly spooked him as well. “Let me see, let me see,” he urgently asks, as he pulls up the gown, exposing the now soaked bandage on her right side.

“Maggie, look at me. Look at me,” he pleads, grabbing her arms, forcing her wild, green, fearful eyes to meet his. “You tore your stitches. You’re okay. You’re okay,” he gently explains to her, the darkness of her nightmare having seeped into her real life through the realization that the nightmare was in fact reality, and the threat of her baby very real.

“Baby?” she mutters, voice cracked with sleep and fear at what the answer to what her question will be.

Realization seems to dawn on him, as she settles her back against the examination table, her body rigid with fear. “Baby’s okay, it’s okay,” he assures her, burying his face in her hair, whispering soft hushes into her, calming both their shaky nerves.

A sense of safety never fully able to settle within her, but as Glenn whispers wash over her, and the news of her baby settling in, she’ll take this one small victory. Her now bloody hands wrapping tightly around her very real, very alive husband.

xxxxxxx

It’s not long before Dr. Carson comes in to stitch her back up, explaining the appendectomy that took place. She squeezes Glenn’s hand tightly, as black thread is laced through her skin, sewing her back together, but leaving her with a scar, a physical reminder to go along with the emotional trauma she’s not likely to ever get over.

The doctor assures her everything went well, that the baby’s fine, but even with a medical professional assurance, her fear of the loss is still present and eating her from the inside out, needing to see his words as a reality.

It’s not until the room echoes the sound of a steady heartbeat that she breathes a visible sigh of relief, and a smile threatens to overtake Glenn’s entire face. The grainy image appearing on the machine.

Her hand is soon brought to the lips of her husband, a silent gesture of solidarity, of thanks, of hope still present in him.

Her eyes fill with tears. A moment spent cherishing all that she could’ve lost, putting aside the fear of tomorrow and the rest of their days. “Our little bean,” she whispers.

Glenn hears her words and breaks his gaze away from the screen to stare down at her with a grin, before adoringly looking back at the image - a tiny baby bean floating in a sea of black, like a beacon of light in all the darkness. “Our little Grheene bean,” he whispers back.


End file.
